Lucifer's Scourge
by BitShifter
Summary: Steed faces the past. Rita is spellbound. (Fifth in the series)
1. Chapter 1

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 **"Lucifer's Scourge"**

An Avengers Fanfiction

 _The fifth in a series of early John Steed adventures designed to bridge the year and a half between broadcast episode 3.26, "Lobster Quadrille" (Cathy Gale, March 1964), and episode 4.01, "The Town Of No Return" (Emma Peel, September 1965)_

 _Follow-up to episode 2.05, "Warlock" (Cathy Gale, January 1963)_

 **Disclaimer:** Some copyrighted characters have been borrowed

 _Steed faces the past. Rita is spellbound._

"Black magic is based on the premise that evil, intelligently controlled, is more powerful than good." -Catherine Gale

 **January 1963**

A figure in a black robe stood in front of a gathered circle of acolytes. He pulled back his hood to reveal a face with dark eyes, fair hair, and a scruffy beard. There was undeniable charisma in his voice as Cosmo Gallion addressed his followers.

"This ceremony hasn't been performed in over a hundred years, so we're all very privileged to watch it tonight." He placed a clear-walled box containing a viper next to the altar. "It can only be performed when the subject of the ritual is a woman of unique occult qualities." He paused for effect. "I, your Warlock, have found such a woman."

The sound of tribal drums filled the room as Julia, Gallion's chief acolyte and current lover, started to dance seductively around a skull in the center of the circle. All eyes in the room were glued to her writhing body as Gallion's silky smooth voice called out his command.

"Will with me... Will with me... Catherine Gale."

His face was contorted in concentration as he attempted to reach his victim. Miles away, in her bedroom, Cathy felt the first stirrings of contact.

The ritual proceeded frenetically as the speed of the drums increased. Julia's body was a blur now. In a small storeroom in the back of the building, John Steed was attempting to burn away the bonds that held him prisoner using a box of matches.

The Warlock increased the urgency of his command.

"Will with me Catherine Gale!"

A mirror decorated with mystic sigils had been mounted on the wall opposite the door. Gallion looked into it, using the force of his will to shape reality. In the mirror he saw the door open, and Cathy's face appeared in answer to his summons. Gallion turned away from the mirror to address Cathy as she walked through the door and down the stairs to stand opposite him. The sound of the drums ceased.

"What is the Law?" Gallion asked sternly.

"Do what thou wilt is the whole of the Law," Cathy answered softly.

Julia led Cathy to the altar. Cathy made no move to resist as she compliantly reclined on top of the marble surface. In the back room, Steed had finally managed to free himself using the matches, although it would take several weeks for the burns on his wrists to heal.

Gallion stood over the helpless form of Cathy and slid a dagger from the sleeve of his black robe. It glistened in the lamplight as he aimed it at the center of her breast. Just as he was about to plunge the blade into Cathy's heart, her hand shot out and intercepted his wrist. A quick twist caused him to drop the dagger and fall to his knees; Cathy kicked both Gallion and Julia away and drew her gun, firing it once into the air. The room was silent for an instant as the acolytes stared at the armed woman standing over their Warlock. Steed burst through the door and ran down the stairs.

The acolytes restlessly moved around the room to surround the two intruders. Cathy's gun would be insufficient to stop them if they all decided to attack at once. Steed came over and stood back to back with her; he was unarmed, but ready to sell his life dearly, if it came to that. Cathy smiled grimly as she felt the comfort of Steed's warm body behind her. There would be no way she would rather go.

"Come here often?" Steed addressed her over his shoulder.

"This is my first visit," Cathy said wryly. "I don't think I'll be asked back again."

Just then, Gallion rose from the floor. His eyes sparkled with an unearthly light. He picked up the box containing the viper and walked steadily towards the intruders. Cathy could feel Steed tensing his muscles for action.

Then, as if all energy had been sucked from him, Gallion dropped the box and collapsed into the unholy circle. His mouth moved, but seemed unable to form words. His hand groped and found the skull, clutching it as if it could provide him the power he needed. Then he sprawled out onto the floor, motionless. The skull rolled from his hand.

Julia ran to the side of her fallen lover. A look of horror filled her face as she turned to Cathy.

"You killed him!"

-oOo-

Afterwards, Cathy and Steed had stopped by the pub for a pint. Cathy drank down a generous swallow from the mug of ale that sat in front of her.

"I needed that." Cathy smacked her lips. "What about Gallion?" she asked.

Steed arched his eyebrows. "The doctor said he died of heart failure."

"In the long run, who doesn't?" Cathy replied grimly. She turned away from the bar to watch the game of darts in the corner.

"The point is," she continued, "Gallion had complete faith in his power to harness evil." She turned to face Steed and gave him a knowing glance.

"But he also believed that if he failed, that same power would destroy _him_."

-oOo-

 **August 1964**

The center of the room was occupied by The Circle. Ancient symbols and Hebrew letters marked the various points of the compass upon it. To one side, facing east, was The Altar. A figure clad in a black robe stood nearby, addressing a group of followers. He was equipped as every Black Magician should be: next to him were his bell, book, candle, and sword; and in one hand he held a mighty rod made from virgin hazelwood, cut on the day of Mercury and properly anointed and consecrated.

"I am your Magus," the figure proclaimed. "To this point, our efforts have been puny and inconsequential—finding gold, cursing enemies with ill fortune, acquiring women for our own sexual gratification. Today, we will undertake a ritual that is seldom attempted, and even less often survived. I, your Magus, will endeavor to enter into a pact with the Dark Ones."

A rumble of nervousness swept through the gathered acolytes.

"What is the Law?" the robed Magus called out. The answer came in unison.

"Do what thou wilt is the whole of the Law," they replied solemnly.

"Take your positions around The Circle," he ordered. The acolytes scrabbled to their knees and spread out a respectable distance away from the zone of conjuration. Hazy fumes flowed from censers on the floor, and the robed figure was scarcely visible in the light cast by the oil lamps suspended on chains from the ceiling. He pulled back his hood to reveal coal black eyes, an intelligent visage, and a scruffy beard of fair color.

Cosmo Gallion, the Magus, spoke the words to begin the ritual.

"Emperor Lucifer, Master and Prince of Rebellious Spirits, I adjure thee to favor me with the presence of your mighty minister, _Lucifuge Rofocale_." He took the hazel blasting rod he held in his hand and aimed it directly at the center of The Circle. Sparks flew from the location and a dull glow began to coalesce.

"I desire to make a Pact with him," Gallion continued, as if feeling the need to explain his actions to the Prince of Darkness. "Command him to leave the Lower Levels and come forth to communicate with me." For a second time, the Magus aimed his wand at the Circle. Smoke was now beginning to pour from the spot.

"Rofocale, I command and conjure you in the Name of the Mighty _Adonai_ , to appear without noise, tumult, or evil smell, to respond in a clear and intelligible voice, point by point, to all that I shall ask of you." For the third and final time, Gallion aimed the rod at The Circle. This time, there was a high, keening sound, as if the air was being forcibly split in two to allow for the passage of an entity into this realm.

A hideous figure reeking of sulfur was standing in The Circle. His body danced with poisonous snakes; flames flickered around every joint and orifice, which were many, since the shape was as unhuman as any that the acolytes could have imagined. The demon spoke.

"I am here! What do you seek of me? Why do you disturb my repose?" There was a thunderous boom as Rofocale stamped the floor with an appendage that looked part claw, part hoof.

"It is my wish to make a Pact with the Dark Ones, to have the support of one of your servants. Failing this, I will torment you with the potent words from the Clavicle of Solomon and blast you with my rod." Gallion waved the wand menacingly over his head in a circular motion, as if gathering energy, and then pointed it at the demon's feet. A tremendous explosion shook the room, and fire and smoke poured from the spot. The demon didn't seem to be at all alarmed by this display, and merely smiled in amusement.

"I cannot comply with a request on such terms, nor on any others, unless you agree to give yourself over to me in twenty years, to do with your body and soul as I please."

"I agree to the terms," Gallion answered easily. "Here is my pledge." He tossed a rolled piece of virgin parchment into The Circle. The parchment slowly faded from view, as if it had lost the will to maintain its reality in this world.

"Very well. Your pledge is in order," Rofocale nodded. "I will designate one of the seventy-two demons of the pit to give you aid. When you require it, call upon the Great Duke _Dantalian_. Observe the ritual closely, or you will be destroyed utterly, and your soul will be mine."

Gallion smote the ground with his blasting rod, and Rofocale disappeared. The acolytes trembled.

He turned to face his followers. Gallion's eyes were piercing and black; his voice was silky and smooth as he made his proclamation.

"I am Lucifer's scourge, come to punish those who deny his will."

Then, in a low voice, he added smugly: "You will be first, John Steed."

-oOo-

An involuntary shudder went through the body of John Steed as he stood in the desolate back alley. It was deep summer, but the morning air still seemed to hold a chill. Perhaps it was caused by the corpse with the large stab wound in its chest, right through the heart, that was sprawled at Steed's feet.

The alley was only a few blocks away from Cathy's old apartment, although this was surely just a coincidence. Her flat now had a new tenant, and all trace of his comrade-in-arms had been removed. He hadn't realized until recently how much he had come to miss Cathy—the strong will, the sharp tongue, the gun tucked in the garter, and the same love of danger and adventure that Steed himself felt when working undercover.

The Ministry had provided him a research assistant, librarian Rita Fox, who was in every way Mrs. Gale's intellectual equal; but she was often out of her element once the fighting started. Still, she was a trouper, and on more than one occasion had proved that she didn't fold under pressure. One-Ten had indicated that he was trying to find a suitable partner for Steed outside of the Ministry, but that it could take as long as a year before such a placement could be made.

Steed stooped over the dead body, supporting himself with the handle of his umbrella. The courier hadn't even been carrying any dispatches; there could be no possible reason for wanting him dead. But there was no lack of clues at the murder scene; a complex symbol had been drawn in chalk on the nearby pavement, along with two Latin words. Steed hastily sketched a copy of the symbol on a small pad of paper, and wrote the words down exactly as they appeared next to it: LUCIFUGE ROFOCALE. Then Steed noticed something else near the body. He held it up in the early morning sunlight.

It was a raven's feather.

-oOo-

"I don't understand," the acolyte said. "Why was it necessary to kill the Ministry courier?"

"I've been watching carefully for the past year and a half," Gallion explained. "Whenever a government official is killed, Steed shows up, like some avenging angel. Once he sees the body, he will call his woman to help him."

"His woman?"

Gallion nodded. "He works with a woman. Through her, we can destroy him."

The acolyte looked puzzled. "Why not just attack Steed directly?"

Gallion ignored the question. "It was my inability to control the woman that led to my downfall last time," he said thoughtfully. "I won't make that mistake again."

"What is different?"

"This time I have more weaponry. I have enlisted the aid of the Dark Ones."

"You mean that— _thing_ —you were talking to during the ritual?" The acolyte could not hide his distaste.

"You presume to criticize _me?_ " Gallion threw a severe glance his acolyte. " _What is the Law?_ " he demanded.

"Do what thou wilt is the whole of the Law," the acolyte answered meekly.

Gallion nodded his approval. "Do not forget it." He continued his discourse.

"We'll send Slag again; he did excellent work with the courier. He is to follow the woman who works with Steed. Her name is Catherine Gale. When he finds her alone, she is to be taken, and brought to me. The woman must _not_ be harmed. Drugs may be used if needed to subdue her."

The acolyte simply nodded. It would be done.

Gallion's gaze was unfocused and his voice sounded distant.

"Steed's woman will be the Vessel," he said.

-oOo-


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The man in the derby examined the black feather that Steed had handed him. "Cosmo Gallion is dead," One-Ten announced.

"Then he must have found a way to resurrect himself," Steed countered. They were both leaning against the railing that overlooked the Thames.

One-Ten shook his head unhappily. "Probably just one of his followers. That man was the devil incarnate. The control he had over our agents seemed supernatural. What are you and Miss Fox doing to stop him?"

"Miss Fox? I thought you and Charles forbade me to use her any more," Steed pointed out.

"Gallion was a total devotee of nineteenth century occult literature," One-Ten answered crustily. "His successor would be using the same texts. Miss Fox may actually be useful this time."

"She was useful against the Bookhounds," Steed added casually.

"If you say so. I'll have Charles send her over before lunch. Anything else you need?"

"I'd like the coroner's report on Gallion, and to know whether his body was cremated or buried," Steed replied.

"Or sealed in a cave for three days?" One-Ten interjected with grim humor.

"My instincts tell me the answer is 'none of the above'," Steed finished knowingly.

-oOo-

Gallion was still dressed in his black ceremonial robe when Slag entered the room. The Magus turned to greet his chief henchman, gesturing for two of the acolytes who also served as thugs to join them.

Slag was just an inch or two shorter than average, but he made up for it with a stocky build and powerful arms. His hair was cut short and unstylishly, as if someone had placed a bowl over his head and cut around the margins. His eyes were bright and intelligent, but it was a hangman's humor that touched a smile to his lips on occasion. Known throughout London both as hired muscle and as a shooter, he could be counted on to do any sort of dirty work—for a price. The riches and women that Gallion had been able to acquire were the sort of payment that worked very well indeed. Gallion dispensed with any pleasantries and got down to business.

"Are you clear, Slag? You're to accompany my two men here to the apartment of John Steed, to intercept a woman. My men will give you the details."

"I'll need cash this time, guv. Not that I don't appreciate the _other_ ," Slag said lecherously.

Gallion slipped him a few notes with large denominations. As Slag turned to tuck them away, Gallion took one of his men to the side.

"Take a gun," he ordered in a voice barely audible. "Our friend Slag is sometimes a bit overzealous in his work. It is important that no harm come to the virgin Vessel."

-oOo-

The red '62 Mini pulled up in front of Steed's apartment, taking the spot just behind the Bentley. Steed would have needed a moment to recognize the woman with the lush red-auburn hair who got out of the car. Rita Fox had stopped at her flat to change clothes on the way over; she now wore a completely new outfit, a radical departure from the flannel skirts and white blouses that formed her day-to-day uniform at the Ministry of Defence Library.

Rita had recently come to realize that she had feelings for Steed, and she had noticed signs that he might feel the same way about her. Winning John Steed would be no easy task; women all around seemed to fawn over Steed, and there was that big-chested French Inspector who was always throwing herself at him. Rita had known Steed for three months now, and if it took a new outfit to get his attention, she was willing to try a change.

She had gone shopping with a friend who had tried to get her to buy a leather miniskirt, which Rita had balked at; then she remembered Steed's comment about favoring leather when they were trapped in the deadly garden maze, so she opted for a knee-length skirt in very soft black leather. It was tight near the hips, but had a side slit that would allow her to execute a decent kick if necessary. And when you hung around with Steed, you never knew when evildoers might make it necessary.

Steed had also mentioned that red was her color, so she had chosen a lightweight V-neck top of red satin. Rita had decided not to wear anything underneath it; her breasts weren't very large, but she had caught Steed admiring them on more than one occasion. It wouldn't hurt to give him more opportunities to admire them. Besides, it wasn't the fifties any more. She had also chosen some practical open-toed shoes with a low heel. The ensemble was completed by her cloisonne hair clips. She was all for change, but some aspects of her attire were non-negotiable.

As she approached Steed's front door, she considered the tenuousness of her working relationship with him. Eventually Charles, who was the Head of Operations, or One-Ten, who was the Mission Coordinator, would find a permanent partner to work with Steed. And there was a good chance that it would be another woman like Cathy Gale. Before that happened, Rita wanted to have an opportunity to explore all of her feelings for Steed, including those in the bedroom.

When Steed answered her knock, he was dressed casually in a polo shirt and light wool slacks. As she had hoped, he did a double-take when he saw her new outfit. She smiled dazzlingly to complete the effect. Steed smiled back with a twinkle in his eye.

"Miss Fox, you look ravishing."

"You always say that Steed, but you never ravish me," Rita answered coyly. She strolled closely past to give him a whiff of her new cologne. It had just a touch of sandalwood, which she hoped would remind him of the equestrian getaway they had planned for this weekend.

Steed guided her into the apartment with a gentle hand on her waist, and she took up her customary seat on the couch, with her right leg dangling over the side. Her snakebite wound from Wootton Bassett had healed, but it was still a force of habit to favor the leg. Steed brought her a glass of brandy, not waiting for her usual protest that she never drank alcohol, and sat on the couch opposite her.

Rita sipped delicately at the brandy. Charles had told her that Steed needed her expertise for his current investigation, but she was still surprised by his first question.

"What do you know about black magic?" Steed asked.

"The kind you weave so well?" She gave him a sly glance.

He smiled. "The kind practiced by a warlock."

"Well, there's a good history of the mythology of magic in Sir James George Frazer's _The Golden Bough_ published in 1890—"

"I don't mean history or anthropology," Steed interrupted. "I mean _actual_ black magic."

"As in Faust and grimoires? Summoning the demons of hell, that sort of thing?" Rita wore an amused expression on her face.

"It's no laughing matter," Steed countered. "I've seen some things with my own eyes, on a case with your friend, Mrs. Gale."

Rita arched her eyebrows. "And what did Cathy think about it?"

"She didn't believe any of it."

"So you can probably guess what my point of view will be."

"Mrs. Gale and I were investigating the head of a black magic cult, a self-proclaimed warlock, who had the power to make Ministry employees divulge state secrets," Steed continued. "This warlock, Cosmo Gallion, was pronounced dead of heart failure. Now it looks as if he might be very much alive."

"One of his followers, perhaps?" she ventured.

"Perhaps." Steed looked uneasy. "Would it be possible for a man to fake heart failure?"

Rita looked thoughtful. "Several Eastern mystics, studiers of Prana-Bindu techniques, can stop their hearts beating and cease respiration at will," she offered.

Steed frowned. "But wouldn't that cause brain damage? Oxygen deprivation?"

"Only if you stopped it all the time," Rita suggested. "To fool someone into thinking you're dead, you only have to stop it when someone's listening."

Steed thought about this for a few seconds before continuing.

"Are you saying he could stop his heart, have his body carted to the morgue, stop it again when the coroner examined him, and then when no one is looking, just get up and walk away?"

"If he had sufficient Eastern training, it might be possible," Rita said.

Steed nodded, accepting her hypothesis for the time being. He picked up a manila envelope from the coffee table.

"A year and a half ago I managed to sneak into one of the cult's rituals, under cover of a black robe."

"In that sneaky way that you do things," Rita winked.

"They chanted a phrase during the ceremony: 'Do what thou wilt is the whole of the law'."

"Yes," Rita answered. "A phrase promoted by Alistair Crowley around the early 1900's in his version of the black arts called 'Thelema'."

Steed pulled an object from the envelope and showed it to her. "There was something else, too. Gallion used a raven feather, like this one, to mark his victims. And he had a snake. Also, they played tribal drums and danced wildly, almost sexually."

Rita nodded. "Sounds like African Voodoo."

"He was able to control people's minds, make them tell him anything."

"Simply hypnosis and the power of suggestion," she countered.

Steed looked at her evenly. "I saw him _will_ a person to die."

"Don't be ridiculous, Steed. Even with drugs and hypnosis, you can't convince someone to just _die_."

Steed wrinkled his brow. He reached into the envelope again and produced the sketch he had made at the site of the courier's murder.

"What about this symbol," he asked, "and the words 'Lucifuge Rofocale'?"

"Only three syllables in 'Rofocale'. The 'e' is silent."

"And 'Lucifuge'?" Steed continued.

"Latin for 'one who flees the light'. Don't you remember your Faustian legends? Rofocale was a deputy of Satan who performed all of his deals and pacts."

Steed had a wry grin. "Sort of Satan's theatrical agent?"

"More like a Prime Minister," Rita corrected. "It's part of a different type of black magic, called demonology and infernal necromancy. Satanism."

"So now he's combined three different types of black magic," Steed declared. "Thelema, Voodoo, and Satanism."

"Just showy gimmicks for the Black Magician," she offered.

"Or the three legs of an unholy tripod," he mused.

Rita shook her head. "Surely you don't believe in all this, Steed."

"I know one thing. If this _is_ Cosmo Gallion come back from the dead, I'm not sure anything on this earth can stop him."

-oOo-

Just outside Steed's apartment, a black Citroen was parked across the street. Slag was at the wheel. There was a sinister-looking thug in the seat next to him, and another in the rear seat; these were Gallion's acolytes. Rita came down the steps and headed towards her Mini.

Slag pointed. "That must be the woman that Steed works with."

The man next to him nodded. "Gallion wants us to take her, but make sure that Steed isn't around to see it."

"Won't she go straight to Steed and tell him everything once she's released?" Slag asked.

"By that time she'll be under Gallion's control."

Slag nodded. The thug in the rear seat spoke up.

"Remember, the woman isn't to be harmed," he said. "We're allowed to inject her with a sedative if she's too wild, but no bruising, no broken bones."

"Why not?" Slag asked

"She's going to be his virgin Vessel," the man in the seat next to him explained.

Slag watched as Rita opened the car door and got in. He snorted.

"Great Khyber, nice firm Bristols on her. Doubt if she's a virgin," Slag said lasciviously.

"Let Gallion worry about that. What do we do now?" the man in the back asked.

"We follow her," Slag declared. "The next place she stops where there isn't a crowd, we take her." He smoothly guided the Citroen out onto the road and fell in behind the Mini as it drove off.

-oOo-


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The front door of the bookshop had a colorful painting of a woman in a golden robe seated at a throne. A staff was in her right hand, a sunflower in her left. A black cat sat in the foreground. The sign above the picture read "The Queen Of Wands." A string of bells attached to the door jingled softly as Rita pushed it open.

The interior of the shop was hazy with incense smoke, and Rita could vaguely detect the odors of opium and hashish wafting through the air. The shopkeeper ogled her lewdly from behind the counter, and she suddenly felt naked. The clothes she had worn were deliberately chosen to be sexy for Steed, not to entice random bystanders.

Rita checked out the bookshelves that bordered the wall opposite the door. The Ministry library was woefully inadequate in its collection of nineteenth-century occult texts. Luckily, black magic had become a fad of late, so there were plenty of bookshops like this one where she could hunt up some of the more obscure works.

On the tables near the bookshelves, Rita spied a large assortment of paraphernalia used in the practice of black magic rituals: skulls, crystals, lamps, candles, censers, talismans, and even hazelwood wands. Then it occurred to her that if anyone would be familiar with a Black Magician practicing somewhere in the city, it would be the young, long-haired shopkeeper who hadn't taken his eyes off her chest since she walked through the door.

-oOo-

Out in the street, the black Citroen had pulled up behind Rita's Mini. The thug in the front seat noticed the sign in front of the bookshop.

"What luck!" he exclaimed.

"What do you mean?" Slag asked.

"He's one of us. The bookseller. He's part of the circle."

Slag nodded approvingly. "Go over to the public box there, and get him on the phone," he said. "Tell him to lure the redhead into the back room. I'll take care of the rest."

-oOo-

The phone rang behind the bookshop counter. The shopkeeper answered it in a low voice as Rita continued to browse the titles on the shelf in front of her. Just as she was trying to decide the best way to approach the shopkeeper, he cleared his throat in her direction.

"Miss? Is there something I can help you with?"

As much as she knew it degraded her, Rita walked over to the counter and bent over to talk to the bookseller, allowing him a brief glimpse down her top.

"Yes, I'm looking for some obscure occult texts dealing with Black Magic," Rita began. "You see, my current circle just isn't as serious about the Art as I am. In fact, I've been looking to find a new circle." She hoped her comment and scant cleavage would be sufficient bait.

"Have you seen the Grimoire of Honorius?" the shopkeeper began. "A tome of most Ancient Evil, and one that every Practitioner of the Art should be familiar with."

"You mean the catalog of fallen angels attributed to Pope Honorius The Third, out-of-print since the early 1800's?" Rita asked haughtily, in spite of herself. "You have such a manuscript?"

"Indeed; it's in the back room. If you would care to step this way," he proposed with a wave of his hand. Rita followed hesitantly, unsure whether he had actually taken her bait or not. She supposed she would find out in the back room.

-oOo-

"You two just stand lookout," Slag instructed. "The day I can't take a woman single-handed is the day I turn in my sap."

"Remember, she's not to be harmed," one of them called after him.

"I won't hurt the precious Vessel," he sneered.

Slag quietly entered the back room of the bookshop via the shipping entrance. The woman with red-auburn hair was engaged in conversation with a long-haired bookseller. Slag crept up silently behind the woman and wrapped his arms around her, locking them across her red satin top just below her breasts. Rita let out a startled gasp as her arms were pinned into immobility. The shopkeeper retreated into the front room, having fulfilled his part of the conspiracy.

Rita thrashed from side to side in an effort to throw her attacker off balance. Looking at the floor, she saw him move his feet wide apart in an attempt to gain stability. This was the opening she was looking for; she swung her leg forward for momentum, then vigorously thrust her heel back and up, hoping to find the vulnerable area that his spread legs provided.

The pained cry from behind her indicated she had found her target. His grip loosened immediately and Rita sprang away. When she turned, she saw him attempt to remain standing, then fall to his knees as the full effect hit him. Unfortunately for her, his cry had brought the two lookouts to the door.

"I told you not to try it alone, Slag," one of them teased.

The man on the floor did not appear amused. "Mind your bollocks," he warned. "She kicks like a mule!" He rolled over on his side and groaned as waves of nausea swept through his lower abdomen.

Rita knew she had been lucky to incapacitate her first attacker; she doubted she would be so lucky facing two at once. The slit in her skirt came in handy as she aimed a side-kick at the knee of the man approaching on her left. As he stepped back out of range, Rita clawed her hand at the eyes of the man approaching on her right.

Dividing her attention between two targets proved to be her undoing. The man on her right intercepted her wrist mid-flight and twisted her arm behind her back. The one on her left swooped in and grabbed her other arm.

"You can come quietly with us, Miss, or we can inject you with some knock-out juice and carry you off," he hissed into her ear. "Your choice."

Slag had finally made it to his feet, and he staggered over to where the other two thugs held Rita by the arms. His face was only inches away as he glared at her.

"You have picked a fight with the wrong man," he threatened evenly.

Rita smirked at him. "Are you sure you're still a man? I kicked you pretty hard."

Slag raised his hand and slapped Rita sharply across the face. Before he could strike a second time, one of the thugs blocked his wrist.

"Gallion wouldn't like that. His orders were clear. The woman isn't to be harmed."

Rita's cheek still stung as she listened to the exchange with interest. Cosmo Gallion was the name of the Black Magician that Steed had mentioned.

"Slag, we must have your word that you won't harm the woman," the first thug remarked. "Otherwise, we have orders to stop you."

"Do you think you two would be enough?"

"If need be," the other man said. He pulled his jacket aside to reveal a gun in a shoulder holster.

There was a brief moment of silence filled with menacing glances as each side weighed the strength of the other. In the end, the force of numbers won.

"Very well," Slag grumbled. "I won't harm her."

Rita brightened at the good news. "Well, in that case..." With a delicate grunt, she wickedly rammed her knee into Slag's already agonized groin, catching him completely off guard. This had the desired effect: his legs buckled and he sank helplessly to the floor, his hands cupping his stunned testicles, unable to speak a word through clenched teeth.

"That'll shut him up for a while." Rita smiled innocently at the two men holding her. "I'll go with you now. But remember, I'm not to be harmed." They released her arms, and she demurely straightened the hem of her leather skirt.

The two thugs merely snickered at Slag's discomfort as he rolled on the floor, groaning. It was about time Slag got some of his own medicine, and from someone who enjoyed the immunity to do it.

-oOo-

The church was small and quaint, and the priest was nowhere in sight. A sharp-dressed man wearing a Cardin suit and bowler discreetly entered an alcove off to one side of the nave. A curtain blocked his path. The man straightened his bowler with the tip of his umbrella and addressed a figure on the other side of the curtain.

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned," Steed said with feigned sincerity.

"Of that, I have no doubt," came the crusty reply from One-Ten. "It appears that your suspicions were correct. Gallion's body disappeared from the Coroner's Office before it could be buried."

"Wasn't that cause for alarm?" Steed frowned.

"The man was a self-proclaimed Black Magician," One-Ten retorted. "We just figured one of his crackpot followers broke in and stole the corpse, maybe to use for some ritual. I suppose you're going to try to tell me now that the ritual would have been zombification," he added scornfully.

"Not quite," Steed replied. "Miss Fox seems to think he may have used some obscure Eastern body-control techniques to fake his heart failure, and never actually died."

"Leave it to the bookworm to come up with something like that," One-Ten remarked. "Do you believe her?"

"Until a better theory comes along."

"Where is Miss Fox, anyway?"

"She said she was going to chase down some reference materials and get back to me. I assume she's at the Ministry library."

One-Ten's voice came steadily from the other side of the curtain.

"Get on top of this, Steed. We have some big plans going on, plans that could spell an end to the Cold War. If Gallion could force Ministry employees to reveal what they know, it would be worth a million pounds to the Russians. Try to rise above your usual level of incompetence."

Steed nodded, even though it couldn't be seen through the curtain. "Thank you, Father, for those kind words."

"Go in peace," came the surly reply.

-oOo-

Rita had watched out the window of the Citroen as she was transported to a building down on the waterfront. She was in the rear seat with one of the thugs guarding her. Slag was driving the car; Rita smiled to herself as she noticed how gingerly he had to work the clutch and the brake. At least she had managed to give as good as she got during the struggle. She imagined Slag would be walking funny for quite a few hours.

Slag pulled the black car to a stop near a service entrance. The two men escorted her from the car directly past a plaque indicating the street address. It was not a good sign when your abductors made no effort to conceal their hideout from you, Rita thought. It either meant they intended to kill you, or they would be abandoning their hideout once they had collected whatever ransom they demanded. She sincerely hoped it was the latter. Slag drove off in a cloud of exhaust.

The two men donned black robes that were hung on hooks just inside the service entrance. They led Rita down some stairs and into a large room lit by oil lamps hanging from ceiling chains. The room was filled with many other people, all of them wearing robes. Her nostrils once again picked up the smell of opium and hashish. The floor contained a massive occult conjuring circle marked with Satanic symbols straight out of Arthur Edward Waite's _Book Of Ceremonial Magic_.

Rita Fox had no doubt that she was now in the presence of the circle belonging to the Warlock, Cosmo Gallion.

Steed's observations from when he infiltrated the circle a year and a half ago had been correct; the room contained a raven, a snake, and tribal drums; all the trappings of African voodoo. She shuddered in fear as she looked at the viper in the clear-walled box, and she felt a reflexive throbbing from the scar on her right thigh.

The man who was obviously the leader approached her and threw back his hood. He had fair hair, a scruffy beard, and a charismatic face. His voice was as silky smooth as butter when he spoke to her.

"You are not Catherine Gale."

"You are correct; I'm not," Rita smirked. "Who are you?"

"I am The Magus. My name is Gallion."

"So you've promoted yourself from Warlock to Magus. It's still just smoke and mirrors, Cosmo," she said with disrespect.

Gallion did not react to her baiting. He narrowed his eyes to slits. "How do you know me?" he asked calmly.

"Steed told me all about you. How you faked your death using Eastern techniques. He's onto you, you know."

"You work with Steed?"

"My name's Rita Fox. I'm his literature research assistant," she boasted proudly.

"A librarian," he said with a derisive snort. "What happened to Catherine Gale?"

"Cathy is somewhere safe."

"No one is safe from me."

" _You_ won't be safe from Steed. He's coming after you."

"A nice act, but you don't fool me. Steed knows nothing. You, on the other hand, strike me as someone who knows a great deal about the Black Arts. And you work with Steed."

"That's right. If you hurt me, he'll send you away for a face-to-face meeting with Beelzebub."

"Happy to hear that you mean so much to him. Truly." He reached up and caressed a lock of her red-auburn hair. "I'm sure your horoscope isn't as auspicious as Mrs. Gale's," Gallion said. "But my _adonai_ , Duke Dantalian, will be pleased to use you as his virgin Vessel."

"Virgin vessel?" Rita cleared her throat. "You're a little late. There was this boy in college, back at Oxford—"

"No matter!" Gallion interrupted. "You are the Vessel."

Rita couldn't say that she liked the sound of this Vessel business.

"You have no power over me," she countered. "I don't believe in you."

"Then I see I will have to do some convincing." He waved to one of his acolytes, who brought a hypodermic. A tremor of fear passed through her, but she kept her outward appearance calm. The acolyte injected something into her arm. Rita felt a sense of well-being descend upon her.

"That's good stuff," she said, embracing the euphoria. "Better than the stuff Penbrough used."

"You know my acolyte Penbrough?"

"Penbrough's into Black Magic? It figures," she mused.

Gallion ordered his followers into position around the circle. Then he turned to Rita. "You will now stand over there," he commanded.

She expected to feel drowsy, but instead she felt energized. The room was full of colors; they were happy colors, the kind you'd like to take down to the pub for a pint. Gallion personally led her to one of the compass points of the circle, to his left. "Do not move," he added. Rita happily obliged.

In the flickering light of the oil lamps, Gallion waved the blasting rod over his head and started mumbling a stream of names in a voice so low it could scarce be heard.

"Adonai, Eloim, Ariel, Jehovam, Tagla, Mathon, Almouzin," he chanted. "Arios, Pithona, Magots, Sylphae, Tabots, Salamandrae, Gnomus, Terrae, Coelis, Godens, Aqua."

Billows of smoke started to pour forth, glowing eerily in a strange red light emanating from the floor. Probably just steam vented from around a trapdoor, Rita thought. Gallion raised his voice and spoke clearly towards the center of The Circle.

"I conjure thee, Dantalian, in the name of the Holy Tetragram. Come to me, impious one. I have made pact with the mighty Lucifuge, and you must come at my summoning, in the proper time and place."

The smoke cloud suddenly seemed angry and frightening. Then it changed color to brilliant white and coalesced into a masculine figure clad in pure white linen. In his right hand he clutched a book. The title of the book wasn't visible, but Gallion knew that looking at so much as a single page, or even reading the title from the spine, would be sufficient to destroy a man utterly.

Dantalian turned to look at Rita, and she froze, entering a trance state. Her legs were together and her arms straight at her side, palms pressed against the black leather skirt. Her chin was slightly uplifted, and her eyes gazed distantly at nothing in particular. The clingy red satin top accentuated the fact that her nipples had now become sharply erect, like a hunting dog at point, awaiting the orders of its master.

Gallion addressed the otherworldly figure that stood in his Circle.

"Has Rofocale told you about me?"

The Great Duke Dantalian smiled.

"I know you are called Cosmo Gallion," the figure said. "I also know your True Name, and the True Name of each and every human. This is the source of my Power."

"I acknowledge your inestimable Power, Dark One. I petition you for help."

"How can I be of assistance?"

"I have provided you with a Vessel, the woman here," Gallion explained. "I want her to kill a man. His name is—I mean, we _call_ him—John Steed."

"I know your desires. I know the desires and thoughts of all humans, and can even cause them to change," Dantalian boasted. "It will be difficult with the one you call Rita Fox. She does not fully realize it yet, but she is in love with the man you call John Steed." Dantalian's appearance changed, and then he was John Steed, wearing a bowler and umbrella. He tipped his bowler at Rita.

A smile appeared on Rita's face, incongruous with her glazed, distracted eyes.

"But I enjoy a challenge," the demon continued, returning to his original appearance. "I will first attempt to empty the Vessel, to hide all traces of Steed from her conscious mind. If I am strong enough to do that, I will have no problem convincing her to kill him."

Dantalian opened the book before him, and Gallion and his acolytes averted their eyes. Quickly scanning the book, he seemed to find what he was looking for, and then pronounced three one-syllable words aloud. Later, none of those assembled could agree on exactly what the three words sounded like. But they had an immediate effect on Rita. A strange glow surrounded her body for a moment, then faded.

"It is done," the demon announced. "I have emptied the Vessel. Take her to the one you call Steed's apartment. Tell her to go to the door, pretend she is lost, and ask for directions. If she doesn't recognize him, control is complete, and she will obey any commands."

The figure of Dantalian winked out of existence, like the snuffing of a candle.

Gallion turned to address Rita.

"I will call Slag to come over here with the car. You will go with him. You will do whatever he tells you."

"I will go with Slag," Rita said evenly. She marched over to the stairs with a mysterious smile on her lips. "I will do whatever he desires."

-oOo-


End file.
